Beca's late. Chloe checks the time on her phone for the fourth time in as many minutes to again confirm that yes, Beca is late for dinner. She should have been home before 6:00, and it is now 6:18.
It wouldn't really be a problem, except the ravioli is starting to get soggy even though she'd turned down the heat several times. Ravioli is Beca's favorite, and Chloe made it to butter up her wife before attempting to broach an important topic of conversation with her.
Chloe prods the pasta hopefully with a spoon, only for it to tear open on contact. Yep. It's more than done. Sighing, she reaches to the overhead cabinet for a strainer, only to be greeted by a blender. She blinks. Then, she remembers; they'd put the strainer above the sink, not above the stove like it had been in the old apartment they'd shared with Amy.
She moves to the sink to pull down the strainer, a little annoyed with herself for not yet having the hang of the layout of the kitchen. Sure, they'd only lived in their half of the duplex for three weeks, but she should at least know where stuff is.
Then again, her mind has been otherwise occupied as of late.
She pulls down the strainer and sets it in the sink, letting some cold water run next to it. She returns to the stovetop for the pasta and drains it into the strainer, turning her face away from the rising cloud of steam. The ravioli flops out of the pan to land limply in the strainer. Chloe grimaces at it. If her wife had been on time, this wouldn't have been an issue… but oh well. Beca isn't a picky eater.
Chloe carries the ravioli over to the table, grabbing the sauce pan from the stove on her way. She sets everything down and takes her usual seat at the table, again glancing at her phone. 6:25. She gets a weird fluttering in her stomach and she shifts in her chair uneasily as she places her phone face-up next to her plate.
Beca's commute from Brooklyn isn't that long, but Chloe knows the traffic still makes her nervous. She'd simply walked to and from work when they'd lived in Brooklyn, but now that they're farther in the suburbs, Beca has to drive. And it's not that Beca's a bad driver (she's actually a pretty good driver), it's just that Chloe knows she can be a little reckless and impatient. She tends to drive rather quickly and assertively (though she is much more cautious when Chloe is in the car with her).
Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency.
Beca really should have been home by now.
Chloe exhales slowly through her nose, trying to soothe herself. It's probably nothing. Traffic must be a little heavy, or maybe she got caught up with a particularly demanding client; some of those music artists can be a little insane. It wouldn't be the first time.
It's just.
Beca usually would have called or texted her. They had decided early in their relationship that if one of them was running late, they'd let the other know. It had been Chloe's idea and Beca had readily agreed. Even if she was only going to be five minutes late, she'd tell Chloe about it without fail.
Chloe's eyes again shift to her phone. Nothing.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach builds, rising to her throat. She swallows, hard.
Their pasta is no longer hot, but Chloe can't eat any of it anyway.
Maybe she should just call Beca. Her hand is reaching for her phone as soon as the thought forms, only for her to snatch it back. If Beca's driving – no, Beca is driving, there's no "if" – then a phone call might distract her and do more harm than good. Besides, Chloe doesn't want to be that nagging wife. They've only been married for ten months, so surely, it's too soon to become a nag?
Besides, it hasn't even really been that long.
Except. Now it's 6:37.
Chloe sits, torn, biting her lip. A text wouldn't hurt. It certainly wouldn't be enough to distract Beca from her driving. She picks up her phone and types out a simple "On the way?" to Beca and watches as it sends. There.
Chloe knows she's being silly. New York traffic is unpredictable. If only she didn't feel so…off about it all, then it wouldn't be a problem.
She stares down at her dinner, barely touched. The thought of eating more makes her stomach roll, so she picks up her plate and stands to take it to the sink.
The text had done nothing to calm her nerves; if anything, it made her more anxious, her ears straining for the sound of the text notification and Beca's reply. Beca usually responds within minutes, unless she's working with a client.
Chloe scrapes her plate into a container for leftovers, puts it in the fridge, then places her dishes in the sink. Her shoulders feel stiff; maybe Beca could give her a massage when she gets home. Chloe's hands grasp the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. She stands at the sink, her eyes staring at nothing out the kitchen window. She finds herself thinking "Please," over and over again, her heart rate increasing with the mantra.
Beca should have been home nearly an hour ago.
Chloe's phone chimes.
She whirls and lunges for her phone at the table. Her hip collides with the back of the chair she'd been sitting in, but she barely feels the impact and doesn't even flinch when the chair is sent to the floor with a bang.
Even before she unlocks her phone with shaking fingers, though, her brain registers that it hadn't been her text notification tone. She can't immediately associate an app with the chime, but nevertheless she's sure it has something to do with her absent wife. She knows it in her bones.
Which is why the emergency news notification hits her like a kick to the stomach.
The alert flashes at her, the text in all caps in combination with her anxiety making it hard for her to read.
BREAKING: 5:53pm…EXPLOSION ON US I-495 (LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY) LEAVING BROOKLYN MARKER 29… GAS CARRIER TIPPED…SEVERAL CARS INVOLVED…FATALITIES AND INJURIES TO BE CONFIRMED…BLAST RADIUS 30 YARDS…EXPECT DELAY
Beca takes that route home after work. And the time of the explosion would line up with her commute.
Chloe feels the blood drain from her face. She's suddenly woozy and sits down hard on the floor.
Oh, God, Beca, please don't have been there. Please have passed it already or have been behind it, anything, please don't have been driving right next to it.
Chloe squeezes her eyes shut tightly. She can picture it happening. She can clearly see in her mind's eye: Beca driving right next to the gas hauler as it tips. Beca jerking the wheel reflexively, only to run off the road or into someone else or anywhere still in the blast radius. Beca's car, burning.
Chloe regrets eating what little pasta she did as nausea rolls over her. Pure, undiluted terror coils in her stomach as the earth lurches. Her hands are numb and she can't move and she's gasping for air because she can't breathe and she can't think and dear God not Beca please not Beca not Beca not Beca –
A realization breaks through her panic and Chloe bolts up to her feet, the abruptness of her motion making her see spots. A trembling hand drops to her stomach as adrenaline shoots into her limbs.
She's not pregnant. Not yet. But she had been planning on talking to Beca about having kids. It's why she'd made her favorite meal, to help ease what would surely be a surprise. Chloe wants to carry Beca's baby. She wants it more than anything.
But – Beca isn't there.
Chloe sways on the spot. Oh God. What if – ?
The unthinkable snaps Chloe from her panic and she inhales deeply, sitting down at Beca's usual spot at the table. No, she tells herself, calm down, it's a breaking story. Beca's fine. She's just held up in the traffic delay.
Chloe doesn't believe herself. She calls Beca, her fingers still trembling and stomach still rolling.
"Hey, it's Beca Mitchell-Beale, sorry about missing your call. You know what to do at the beep."
Rather than ringing, her call is sent straight to voicemail. A chill strokes down Chloe's spine. She hangs up without leaving a message and immediately tries again.
No ring tone. Straight to voicemail.
Why do phones do that, again? Only when they're off or broken? If Beca's phone is somehow broken, then where…?
Chloe swallows the panic she feels spreading through her body and tries for the third time. Then a fourth. The sound of Beca's voicemail message drags a strangled cry from her throat and her body hunches over the table.
She leaves a message the fifth time, because she has to do something.
"Bec. Where are you? Please, just – just call me, or text, or something, okay? Please," her voice breaks. "I saw that there was an – an accident. Just, please, tell me you're okay. Tell me you're on the way." She takes a deep, shuddering breath before whispering, "I love you. So, so much."
She waits, unable to hang up, fighting against the urge to say more. How could she possibly fit all she needs to say to her wife into a voicemail?
After a minute of silence, Beca's voicemail runs out of patience with her and cuts off abruptly. She presses the phone to her hear, staring at the opposite wall. She feels absent from her own body. Dreamy, almost. She wonders vaguely if she's dissociating.
Her phone chimes again, this time clearly a text notification. Heart in her throat, she pulls the phone from her ear to stare at the screen, hoping to see Beca's name. For the first time in her life, she's utterly disappointed to see that she has a message from Aubrey.
Saw the news. Are you and Beca okay?
Chloe doesn't bother replying. It's not from Beca, and she has no idea how to answer it. Because no. She's not okay. She won't be okay until Beca comes home to her. Besides, she needs to keep the line open, just in case Beca fixes her phone.
But it seems that the other former Bellas disagree, because Amy texts her next.
I texted Shawshank, but she didn't reply. You two good?
The message has her on her feet in an instant, pacing tightly around the table. She needs to move, needs to stand, needs to do something other than think about how Beca isn't getting back to anyone because her phone is broken.
That's all it is. Beca's phone is broken and she's going to walk through the door at any second and they'll go to the store and buy her a new one. Because Beca's okay. Beca has to be okay.
Her phone goes off for a third time and Chloe barely glances at it before growling in frustration. It's Stacie.
Hey you both okay? I heard about the truck
Chloe's legs are shaking. She knows she should sit down but can't seem to make her body follow her command. Her head is floaty, filled with helium, and her stomach twists every time she glances out the window to the still-empty driveway.
She's never felt so alone in her life.
Her mind spirals and she wonders if she should call the police or the local hospitals to ask about Beca. But then, she is Beca's emergency contact; they'll call her first.
Helplessness washes over her in waves. She doesn't know what to do besides wait for Beca. She attempts to steel herself. She'd waited for Beca for years before; she can wait again now.
Her phone chimes yet again and she looks at it hopefully only to see another, more worried message from Aubrey. Knowing that she can't postpone it anymore, Chloe opens the Bellas group chat.
I'm at home. Beca commuting from work. She's not here yet. I'll keep you posted.
She figures that's enough for now and can't bear typing anymore, despite the torrent of messages that starts to come through in response. She ignores them, reserving her attention for Beca and only Beca.
Needing to do something, anything, she turns on their TV to the news in hopes of seeing more coverage of the blast. Sure enough, the anchors are talking about it, their voices overlaid on aerial shots of the accident. Chloe gapes at the screen – it looks horrible. The fire isn't out yet and traffic is nearly at a standstill behind it. Cars are strewn across the road. Her heart lurches at the words flashing on the scrolling banner at the bottom: "Eight fatalities confirmed so far."
They aren't releasing names yet.
She drops to their couch, leaning her head forward into her hands and fighting hard to keep from losing herself completely. Everything is happening so fast. One minute, she was prepping their dinner and now she doesn't know if she'll ever see Beca again.
She'd been so looking forward to starting a family with Beca. A sob tears its way from Chloe's chest; what if they never get the chance?
She tries desperately to cling to hope. Beca can't be gone. She can't. Chloe would have felt it, surely.
Wouldn't she know if Beca had been ripped from her? Wouldn't she have felt it in her soul?
Her mom had known the instant Chloe's dad had died in the car accident.
Chloe remembers it as if it were yesterday. She had been fourteen. She and her brother had been sitting in the family room, watching TV together when they'd heard the crash from the kitchen. They'd run out to see their mom standing in the middle of the room, the bowl she'd dropped shattered on the floor. She'd clutched her chest and dropped to her knees, agony in her eyes.
They had panicked, had begged their mom to say what was wrong, but she had just shaken her head wordlessly. Fifteen minutes later, the hospital called. Her dad had died on impact with a semi-truck on the highway.
Chloe's mom hadn't needed the call. She'd known. She'd felt his death the moment it had happened.
Wouldn't it be the same with Beca?
Chloe had been feeling weird but hadn't felt the excruciating pain that her mom had felt at the instant of her dad's passing. Surely, that meant Beca was okay? That she hadn't… died? Beca couldn't have died.
Chloe would know. Because Beca being torn away from her would be unimaginably agonizing.
Chloe tells herself that repeatedly as she sits, struggling against the fear threatening to overtake her. She would know. Beca is okay. She would know. And, therefore, Beca is okay. She chants to herself, over and over, until it's all she can hear.
Until the jingle of keys snaps her eyes open and jolts her off the couch.
A second later, the door swings and Beca walks in, looking exhausted.
"Bec!" Relief floods Chloe as she lunges forward, throwing her arms around Beca's body and pulling her close. She tucks her nose into Beca's shoulder and inhales her familiar scent deeply, reveling in the warm, solid presence in her arms. She doesn't realize she's crying and shaking until the force of her sobs makes Beca stumble.
Beca clings onto her just as tightly in return, immediately securing Chloe to her. Chloe feels Beca's lips press into her shoulder and the side of her neck, Beca saying frantically between kisses, "I'm okay, I'm okay, everything is okay."
Chloe pulls away to wipe her eyes before crashing her lips onto Beca's, her hands on Beca's cheeks, kissing her as if her life depends on it. Because for a minute there, she didn't think she'd ever get to do that again. The force of it makes Beca stumble back a step before regaining solid footing.
As soon as they break apart, Beca's talking again, staring into her still-watering eyes. "I'm so sorry, Chlo, my phone died, and I didn't have my charger. I'm so, so sorry."
Beyond words, Chloe traces her fingers over Beca's face, needing to reassure herself of her presence. Then, she pulls pack to swat Beca's arm with as much force as she can muster.
"Ouch! What the hell –"
"Beca, how dare you not have your charger? I was so scared! I thought you were blown up, or in a ditch, or –"
"I know, I'm so sorry," Beca cuts her off with a hand on her cheek. "I was behind it, leaving Brooklyn when I saw it tip up ahead. I had to wait in traffic but couldn't text you and –"
Chloe hugs her again, beyond thankful that Beca had only been stuck in traffic around the accident. But still. If she'd seen the truck tip, she'd been close. Much too close.
"God. I don't know what I'd do without you," she whispers into Beca's hair.
Beca squeezes her extra tightly. "You'll never have to find out. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
Chloe lets out a shaky breath and doesn't respond. She knows that no one can promise what Beca just did. Not really. But she appreciates it and hopes it's true.
She pulls away after a moment and again wipes at her eyes. She needs to think about something else for a while. "Um, I made dinner, but it's probably not any good anymore."
Beca glances at the table, her tired expression relaxing at the sight of her favorite meal. "Oh, ravioli, too. I'll microwave it? It'll still be good."
Chloe nods, suddenly ravenous. Everything feels okay now that Beca's home safely.
As Beca fills her plate at the table then moves to the microwave, Chloe goes to their couch to pick up her phone. Unlocking it, she types out a message to the Bellas, who are becoming increasingly frantic.
Beca's back home, we're both safe now. Sorry to worry you guys.
She turns off the screen and watches her wife heat up her dinner. Beca, as if feeling eyes on her, turns to send Chloe a soft, loving smile. Chloe grins back, the terror of the evening nothing more than a bad memory. She spares a thought to how lucky they are; that accident had taken the lives of others.
"I think I'll stay home from work tomorrow," Beca says casually as she takes her food from the microwave.
Chloe nods her agreement, knowing that Beca is doing it for her sake. The vet clinic she works at is closed the next day, so she'll be home as well. The time together will be good for them. They need to recover.
Plus, it'll give them time to talk about kids….